People…people….please. If you are going to insult me, at least do it RIGHT. For fucks sake.
Someone just went to my fan page and told me I am pathetic and a waste of time and fat and full of cellulite and have a fat ass.
I am thoroughly amused. But also disappointed in his lack of creativity and/or ability to make sense. The first thing I thought of when I read that, was “Really dude??! You couldn’t try just a little harder, maybe be more creative, or make sense at ALL??” I’m not sure if he’s really that stupid or he just flipped to the wrong page of his pocket sized book of generic insults. Fat? I’m 5’4, 124 lbs. He really could have tried harder to point something out that was, oh, I dunno, ACCURATE! I seriously almost gave him a fucking LIST of things that would have been way better to insult me with than that. Actually. I will! I will demonstrate.
(Mind you I have awesome self-esteem and don’t actually think bad things about myself but I figured since NONE of these assholes can insult me properly, I would do it for them, especially because it’s hilarious)
A much better insult would have been something along the lines of:
“First of all, who the fuck goes by a name that is a fucking misspelled color. Who the fuck taught you how to spell? You’re not being cool or clever or ironic, you just look like a stupid and unoriginal bitch who can’t even spell basic fucking color names. Secondly, who the fuck drew on your eyebrows, Michael J. Fox??! You look like a failed preschool art project. And seriously, where did you get your style from? It’s like Victoria’s Secret rejected you at the same time as Hot Topic so you decided to combine the two and make it look fucking terrible. You wear so much eye makeup, you look like a cross between a raccoon and the victim of a facial assault by crayola. The real reason you don’t do nude photo shoots is because people pay you to KEEP your clothes on. You try to say you believe in unicorns, but the truth is you’re so fake, even unicorns can’t believe in you. And your so called music? Courtney love having a seizure sounds better than you. Look, I’m sorry no one told you, but looking like a mall goths failed attempt at growing up is not a good look sweetie. Jesus, you look like Marilyn Manson fucked a peacock and had a baby. An ugly one.”
THERE! Now, see, THAT would not only be fairly accurate if you don’t like me, but HILARIOUSLY so, and clever. NOW, the next time you want to insult me, take a lesson, and DO IT RIGHT, ASSHOLES! Thank you, and good night. <3
PS, Tip of the day: Proper spelling and grammar make insults more effective and credible. Saying things like “Your a waist of time” or “u r realy dum and stuped” are not effective insults, they just make YOU look stupid. Please take note. Thanks
Votes for me? I will telepathically send you cookies in exchange. You can not eat them. They are mind cookies. Treats for your mind!!!
brandonvonblackfist asked: I don't know man, I once had a book on dragon magic.
Dragons and dragons alone? No study of Unicorns? Or how to safely extract and use their blood in cake frosting recipes? And even back to Dragons, how about what to do if your young Dragon isn’t shedding properly? Having raised both unicorns and dragons for several years and being a fourth year prize winning Dragon and Unicorn breeder and trainer, I can tell you that there is a large difference between what a book will tell you of myth and legend and what hands on training will teach you. Spend a little bit of time with me on my Dragon ranch or in the Unicorn stables here with me and Lila Bean and you will learn much more than you could ever understand from a simple book. Plus, we have cookies here.
People of Tumblr! Ask me stuffs! I will answer your questions. That is all.
dantkdusa asked: Have you ever done any nude photos?
FERRET PROPERTY LAWS:
1. If I like it, it’s mine.
2. If it’s in my mouth, it’s mine.
3. If it’s in my paw, it’s mine.
4. If I saw it first, it’s mine.
5. If I can take it from you, it’s mine.
6. If I had it a little while ago, it’s mine.
7. If it’s mine, it must never appear…
This is totally true. Totally. <3 my ferrets!
This is the story of the Ginger Devil. There are many myths, legends, and fables of such a gingery-evil being that have been shared over the years, but this, children, is the truest account of the infamous Ginger Devil ever recorded by man. It all began with a man named Greg. Greg Easton.
Greg Easton was once a simple man. He enjoyed taking photographs of toys, and discussing politics with his friends and associates. One day, he decided, instead of toys, he wanted to photograph beautiful naked women. But, he wanted to do so, in very public places. This would not be an easy task for a mere mortal to accomplish. There were many risks and potential dangers involved, and Greg was not beyond the reach of these dangers. But being a bold man, he decided to attempt this any way.
One night, after a close call with the Providence PD, Mister Easton was left with the troubling realization that he was not, in fact, untouchable, and was therefore forced to make some very tough decisions. So he sat, and pondered this. He listened to some Foo Fighters, and Garbage, for spiritual clarity. And also because, those bands are awesome. While he sat, pondering the depths of his own incredible talent and asshole-ish-ness, and recalling memories of mismatched neon shoes and other fine, brightly colored garments fit for a fashionably loud and slightly eccentric Ginger photographer, he began to devise a plan. A mischievous plan. He decided to venture to the horrid, Snookie infested depths of New Jersey, on a mission to find the Robot Devil. Because we all know, everything terrible and evil comes from New Jersey.
Greg packed his bag, full of essentials, such as: his camera. some gear. several pairs of non matching and painfully bright neon converse shoes, a bright pink baseball bat bearing the name “Easton” on it, a my little pony figure with the Greg Easton photography logo painted on its side, a pink Greg Easton helmet, and a stack of business cards in the event that some one other than Snookie required some beautiful portfolio updating (because everyone knows that even the ridiculously talented soon-to-be Ginger Devil himself could not possibly make her look good) and went on his way, to seek out the shiny crimson Robot Devil. But he did not travel alone. On his way, he picked up a scruffy artist named Joe Melone Jr., also affectionately known as “Light Stand Joe”. He also picked up a cute little make up artist named Creeps.
The three of them traveled the long and odorous travel through New Jersey, listening to more awesome music, drinking lots of Starbucks, and reminiscing of times past before every douche bag with an iphone thought he was a photographer.
They finally arrived at the old, closed down amusement park which was home to the evil Robot Devil. Of course, they stopped to take some awesome photos before going to Robot Hell.
As they entered Robot Hell, their ears were greeted with the sinfully sweet sounds of Beelzebots golden fiddle. He appeared before them, shiny and robot-like, and also cartoony and stuff, because he is in fact, a cartoon. But very roboty and devily nonetheless! He looked at Mister Easton, who stood forward from the group, and said “What can I do for you, Mister Easton?”
“I have come to make a deal” Greg said, locking eyes with the gleaming red doom robot, to show how much business he meant. Because he meant all kinds of business. So much businessy business. He obviously had his business shoes on that day. Green and pink. They glowed like flamboyant neon fireflies against the dark ash and evil metal hell flooring.
“And what, precisely, is it that you propose?” The Robot Hell keeper asked.
“I wish to photograph beautiful naked women in public without any worry or consequences” he said “I want to be the best urban nude photographer in all of New England…no. In all of the WORLD. And in exchange for this, I will give you my soul. And also, Creeps will bedazzle your fiddle. She’s really good at that shit.”
The Robot Devil was pleased. He said “I will give you what you ask, and I will take your soul. And also that bedazzley thing you just said. That sounds pretty nice actually. But first, while you’re here, I could use some new shots for my portfolio. My model mayhem is sooo outdated. Do this, and give me your soul and some fiddle beautifying, and you shall have your wish”
So with great speed and accuracy, Mister Easton unsheathed his mighty camera, and took some beautiful new portfolio shots of the evil (yet fabulous) Robot Demon King. Creeps bedazzled his fiddle, and Light Stand Joe helped by holding the equipment and lights and stuff.
After the evil photo session was complete, the Robot Devil handed Mister Easton a contract. Mister Easton quickly signed it, thanked the Robot Satan, and turned to leave Robot Hell. He took about 5 long and careful steps, then slowly turned and said, with a slight grin, “You know, you forgot one minor little detail Beelzebot. I, am a Ginger. And like many Gingers in the human world, I do not possess a soul. And I’m also an asshole. Looks like you made a bad deal, Robot. Good luck with that!”
Needless to say, the Robot Devil was furious. He would have been more mad too, but he did get this awesomely bedazzled fiddle and some new pictures for his port, so he wasn’t totally pissed, but still pretty pissed nonetheless. He glared fiercely at Greg, and in a booming robot voice, he exclaimed “IF I CAN’T HAVE YOUR SOUL, I’M TAKING THE GIRL INSTEAD!!!”, and in an instant, he reached out his long mechanical robot arm, and snatched up the beautiful little Creeps in one foul swoop.
Mister Easton was PISSED. In the words of a New Englander, he was “wicked pissed”. Not to be confused with “wicked pissah”, which is an entirely different, and stupid thing to ever say.
Mister Easton looked at Joe, and screamed “JOE, GET THE BAG!”, and Joe immediately obliged, throwing the over stuffed luggage bag in his direction. Whipping his obscenely bright rainbow scarf out of the way, Greg swiftly leaned down, and reached into the bag, pulling out 3 objects. The helmet. The baseball bat. And the customized Greg Easton logo my little pony figure. Greg threw the helmet to Joe, instructed him to put it on, and then threw the pony back to him too. He then urged him to pitch the pony figure at him, as he stood ready with the bright pink bat.
Joe pitched the pony to Greg, and it flew through the hot doomy air like a brightly painted baseball, but with adorable pony hair.
With one hard and powerful swing, Greg whipped the cute little figure at the Robot Devils head. Immediately at the point of contact, the Robot Devil dropped Creeps, and fell to his knees. He had never seen anything so adorable, and yet so bad ass at the same time. The mere sight of it and its cuteness, along with the dent from impact in his gleaming metal head part, made him cry tears of joy, and of course oil. Cause every body knows all robots cry oil.
But Robot Devils are not supposed to show such emotions. This was very bad for our scarlet metal doom friend. Not to mention this would hurt his chances of ever becoming a famous Robot super model, because no one hires dented Robots for modeling gigs.
In the blink of an eye, half of his Robot Devil Powers leaked from his ruby metal core, and shot directly into the empty space inside of Greg where there would have been a soul, if he’d had one. But ya know, he didn’t. The Ginger thing and all.
It was in that very moment, deep within the fiery mechanical depths of Robot Hell, that Greg Easton, having absorbed enough Devil powers, became once and for all, the infamous Ginger Devil.
Taking back his beautiful make up artist (and model) from the clutches of the Robot Devil, collecting his things, and grabbing Joe, Greg made his way out of the Robot Hell, and back to the surface of New Jersey, which was just as terrible as Robot Hell. Maybe even worse. But nonetheless, trudged on, and finally, made it back to their home of Providence, Rhode Island.
When they finally settled in after a long, adventurous eve, they had a few more cups of coffee, and began the task of Dropboxing all of the photos from the Robot Devil shoot, because Greg Easton is still a professional after all, and plus Creeps wanted some shots of the glamorous new fiddle for her portfolio also.
It was in those caffeine induced moments, that Light stand Joe decided to ask the newly powered Ginger Devil a final, lingering question. “Why,” he began, “when you were getting ready to bat the pony at the Robot Devil, did you make me wear the helmet? What were you protecting me from?”
And the Ginger Devil looked at him, allowing what little human and non-devil emotion he had left appear in his face, and replied “Because, Joe. You’re my best friend. And you have the one thing I don’t. A soul. A great soul. And if that pony ricocheted, and hit you too? I would never be able to forgive myself if the epic cuteness opened you up for the Robot Devil to go and steal yours. You’re a good man, Joe. And just because I’m an asshole, doesn’t mean I don’t care about you.”
“But Greg, why not Creeps? Why didn’t Creeps get the helmet? She’s younger, and prettier than me, wouldn’t you want to save her instead?” Joe asked.
To which Greg replied “Joe. She’s sweet and all. And I love her. But she’s a MODEL, too. Remember? Every one knows models don’t have souls, man. I mean, just look at BLU. She’s all kinds of crazy and soulless. That should tell you.”
And that is when Joe looked back at him, and said “You mean WOMEN, Greg. Women don’t have souls.”
“Precisely, Joe. Precisely. But they look really good in my photos, don’t they?”
To which, they drank. And all was well.
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, even though I am entirely convinced that Greg Easton really is the Ginger Devil. Either way, none of the views or opinions expressed by the characters in this story reflect the actual views and/or opinions of the people I based them on. Unless they do, I don’t know. Seriously, it’s just a story.
Oh and I also didn’t ask permission of the people I wrote this based on, because it was meant to be a surprise for them. Plus it was 2 in the morning when I wrote it. That happens sometimes. So if any of you people hate my story I made based on you, sorry. I love you, and cookies. The end. <3
PS, excuse the grammatical horrors within this story, I am very sleepy. Will edit later.
Anonymous asked: Blu, I have a serious foot fetish and can never seem to get a clear look at your beautiful feet & toes. Any chance you could post some photos? What size are you??
I don’t have photos of just my feet, sorry. But I’m a size 6.5/7 and have been told I have really pretty feet. I do not have a foot fetish myself, how ever I have always loved the artistic legs and heels and stockings type shots, and wanted to do more of those at some point.
Stuff like this (no this is not me) http://images.fineartamerica.com/images-medium-large/retro-pinup-legs-val-armstrong.jpg
Anonymous asked: Would you consider doing a Motorcycle shoot? I was looking for an alt model to pose with my bike for two national bagger magazines. I was planning on using Dave Dawson or Georgi Cambell-Ruley. Planning on late spring shoot date in Plymouth MA area.
I love motorcycles. I also love Dave Dawson. I don’t know the other but I’m sure I’d love him too. But Dave is excellent with motorcycle work. BUT, since you’re anonymous I have no idea who you are…so if you really want to make this happen, email me firstname.lastname@example.org or facebook me a message. But ask Dave first, as he’d be the guy to talk to about his set up and availability, rates, and willingness to travel, etc. Then we can discuss mine.
brittanykoala asked: Follow me back woman. I love you. <3
Okay, I will do this. But only because your name has koala in it. Okay but maybe also because I love you too. But mostly because, koala. KOALA. FOR EVER. <3